Page 94 of Resisting Isaac
“That’s because you’re sweet, Isaac Logan. And I love—that about you.”
My roller coaster hormones are about to have me professing my love to this man like I’ve lost my mind.
“I love a lot of things about you,” he blurts out. “And I mean it about being there. I have a plane, you know. Just say the word at any time and I can be anywhere you need me to be.”
My chest fills with warmth. Who knew this wild reckless cowboy was going to turn out to be such an amazing man?
“Thank you. That means a lot.”
“No need to thank me, baby. This is your show. If you don’t see me as the male lead in the love story of your life, I’ll understand. I just want to play a supporting role is all. If you’ll let me.”
His fingers knead the arch of my foot again and I let my eyes close.
Just for a second.
Just to rest.
At some point, I must’ve fallen asleep. Because when I wake up, it’s dark outside and I’m still on the porch.
But there’s a blanket over me.
And in the chair beside me, like he fell asleep watching me sleep, is the sexiest, sweetest baby daddy I’ve ever seen.
If you don’t see me as the male lead in the love story of your life, I’ll understand.
He doesn’t see himself as worthy of that. I saw it in his eyes when the words left his mouth.
The problem is, even though I probably shouldn’t, I absolutely do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
elena
Ibring cupcakes.
It feels stupid now—standing on Ivy Logan’s porch with a box of white bakery cupcakes I bought in town and a knot of dread in my stomach—but I hadn’t wanted to show up empty-handed. Not when I’m about to drop a bomb on the woman who fought to get me this part.
She opens the door with a soft smile and eyes that are a little puffier than usual.
“Hey,” she says. “You’re up and out. That’s a good sign.”
“Starting to feel more human again,” I offer. “And I wanted to talk. About getting back on schedule.”
She waves me in, barefoot in leggings and an enormous flannel that looks like it belongs to her giant husband. “We’re not actually shooting until Monday. You’ve got a few days.”
“That’s good.” I follow her into the kitchen. It smells like lavender-scented soap and fresh laundry. It’s overwhelming. I consider asking her if we can sit outside since I’m about to tell her why every scent on the planet is too much for me lately.
We sit, and I try to find the words. Try to figure out howto ease into a conversation about pregnancy and postponing work, about visiting my chronically ill father with news that could literally disappoint him to death.
But Ivy presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, letting out a low groan.
“I’m sorry,” she says before I can speak. “I’m not usually like this.”
I set the cupcakes down. “Like what? What’s wrong?”
“Emotional. Moody. Overly aware of everydamnthing my body is doing.” She sighs, voice cracking slightly. “I just started my period. Again. And Wyatt’s chopping wood like he’s in the lumberjack Olympics pretending not to be disappointed, but…”
Her chin trembles and she shakes her head, like she’s trying to will the tears away.
